Happy New Year

 Here's a video of our song 'I Fly My Balloon' hot off the press for the New Year. Thanks to Damian Cosmas for making the video!

Pity Me, The Cat Got Me

Our beautiful Siamese cats had unfortunate hunting habits, no matter that they were fed and loved. it's just their way.

I used to bury the carcasses, and occasionally dig them up to see...

I've been doing this embroidery since 2001 and never felt that I had the time to finish it. The skull, I sewed freehand so it is entirely anatomically incorrect, but it is done from life (or perhaps death).

The cats, of course, are also no more. One by one, they became ill. I always felt that they were such shock-absorbers within our family that eventually they wore out. They were so loved, and every so often we talk about them still and the silly things that they did: like one of them coming through the cat flap with a huge clattering because they had caught a mouse: a dead one, complete with the mousetrap that had done the first and lethal catching.

And now, I've got to finish my book. Amazing how far one will go in order to avoid a difficult task!

Robins

A pair of robins, feathers fluffed up against the cold, peered into the bathroom window as I was brushing my teeth at the sink this morning. Birds must find humans an endless source of entertainment!

Oblique Day

Well, I was going to mend the vacuum cleaner, post a present to my friend Laura and do a bit of housework. I tried to go to the Post Office three times but the queues were horrendous- about 15 people every time, and I gave up and decided to go tomorrow instead.

Fixing the vacuum cleaner simply didn't appeal, and instead I wrote to Steve Beresford to ask if he might be willing to put some electronics on one of my new songs. He phoned immediately and we had a great catch up. As always, he was full of information about different things people do with music and sound, and said 'yes', too. I do so miss sharing an office with him!

So I fired up the computer and started recording. I need a new sound and it was great fun playing around, although I realised that I'd recorded the whole thing 10 BPMs too slow. I went to the pond after checking out the Post Office again (still queues), and scared the seagulls away from their Seagull Takeover. There were men fishing at the other pond, illegally, but they were too stupid to bother with.

Back again, I started the track again at 140 BPM. I don't think the sound is really quite as good as the first version, but it's just a demo and I've just bounced it for Steve. I do so love recording, and home is just as much fun as anywhere else.

Meanwhile in real life, the useless Government is becoming yet more useless. I have decided that Eton is filled with Martians who have infiltrated British politics from as far back as anyone can remember, and the current Government is the epitome of this phenomenon. Stay home, stay safe, and eventually they will self-destruct and humans will have to pick up the pieces. 

Cruelty to Christmas Decorations

The dog with the missing ear was all due to have a reprieve. I opened the basket to put it in, and its leg fell off. Suddenly I was struck cruel, and I threw it away.

Frost, Fog, Mud

 

Early on, a thick layer of frost was larded onto the roofs of the sheds in the back gardens I look out on to, and this was the scene as I walked to the station this morning. Every so often, a jogger materialised out of the grey fog, or a couple of early morning dog walkers milled about on the pavement, more lost than their dogs. It was a nightmare getting to Hampstead, and the Heath was teeming with bored people, all signing the mud with their footprints. 

Bathers, so cold that their flesh shone orange through the mist, held back from dipping into the pewter-coloured pond water.

We sat on a bench and ate raspberry cake with cream. The birthday candles wouldn't light and the smell of hand sanitiser was in the air, but it was a memorable birthday, that's for sure.

After the cold won, they turned south and I turned north. I am so glad to be their Mum.

It was a seven mile day, and cold seven miles to (muddy) boot!

Nice Surprise on Birthday Eve, Thanks Tom Robinson!

 

Not Doing The Housework

'What are you going to do tomorrow?', asked Offsprog Two.

'Housework', I truthfully lied because I thought I was, but I didn't. I went for a mud wrestle (that's what they call walking now around these parts, or at least they do now). Tiny winter birds were out in force, tweetling away with gusto, call and response, conversation, territory-patrolling, whatever it is they do with those little piping voice boxes of theirs. It wasn't such a long walk as yesterday's, although it felt longer because of the amount of time it took to move one foot out of one flooded mud rut and place it in another. The exercise prompted a flood of fatigue, which was only countered by watching a couple of hours of Brexit telly, fortified by chocolate and nougat. I suppose I put out the rubbish, which probably counts as housework. 

The insurmountable problem is that the vacuum cleaner is blocked and all I can think about is forcing Richard Dyson to come and use one of his bloody vacuum cleaners himself to show him how useless they are. They should re-knight him 'Sir Fluff', the man who invented a jolly plastic machine that picks up grey tumbleweed from one part of the house and deposits it in another. We could ask the man who accidentally invented post-it notes (he invented a glue that wouldn't dry) for suggestions about what to do with Dyson's potential landfill devices. Some sort of wildflower seed distributor, perhaps?

No, no, don't think about it. Be positive! It's post-Boxing Day, pre-birthday. I think its going to snow tomorrow so I'll make a snow birthday cake and melt it with candles. Ha ha! The best present this year (apart from Christmas Day, which was lovely) has been sleep. I have stopped worrying about the students and how they are managing (or not), and started counting sheep. There are millions of them, and they all smile, or maybe that's just their natural expressions. 

I have got a song particle ready to send to Robert on New Year's day. At midnight on NYE we will be 'dropping' a new video. Before then, I'll record the first couple of demos for a 2021 solo album. I might even finish the embroidery I started 19 years ago (!). And during all this, I'll be rampaging through a box of Rose and Violent Creams that the Offsprog gave me for Christmas. 

Same problem as pink and white marshmallows. 

Do they taste different from each other? 

Let me try just one more to see.

Where Are The Cheese Footballs This Year?

Christmas Eve Delivery

 

I'll Never Stop Being European

 

Frosty Leaf Art from Christmas Day: a Quill and a Fishbone

 

Boxing Day Walk

More dogs on the planet means more dog poo on the planet, and every new dog on the planet was out this morning, doing what dogs do naturally and best. Gagging in the distance, I began to regret my enthusiasm for an early walk. Offsprog Two says it's the Christmas Feasting, but the fumes were astonishingly persistent and I hope all the dinner scraps have been eaten now. I don't think I could stomach another walk like that.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas!

The Hot Water Bottle Comes In Useful

Ah, normally at this time of year I'm in Barnet Church, singing carols with everyone else's strange family while the Offsprogs hang out at my house watching crap TV. This year it's me watching crap TV along with the rest of the population as we wait for the Coronavirus to go away wondering if we will survive if we succumb to it. And no Offsprogs. Not a terribly cheery thought really, and unsurprisingly I've eaten most of a blackberry cake (made with foraged blackberries), to compensate for the misery.

TV programmers think we all love Victoria Wood, Father Ted, Coronation Street, Eastenders and lots and lots and LOTS of quiz shows. I don't like any of those shows, so I'm channel-hopping and wishing I'd bought some crisps, but I forgot. 

Tomorrow is going to be an outdoor lunch with hot water bottles stuffed up our coats, socially distanced at a garden table with individual portions in recycled Indian Takeaway containers. It's going to be very, very cold and a flask of coffee is going to be in order. The urban foxes will watch from their eyrie on top of the dilapidated shed, and wonder what the strange humans are doing. I have Christmas Crackers packed so it all goes off with a bang!